I have great hair. Correction, I HAD great hair. I had that hair. You know, the hair that people would chase after you for to find out who did your hair. I also had the gal that booked out solidly and wasn’t taking new clients. She is that good. She is worth every penny I ever paid her. For the better part of a decade she took me through every crazy whim I had and made sure I pulled it off. It was a fabulous relationship. She lives in Denver and I now live in Los Angeles. I moved and the single most traumatic loss has been been my hair stylist. My besties will understand and forgive me for that last statement.
On Thursday I got a hair cut and color (I was referred by someone). The color was terrible and the cut was not great. By terrible I mean… this is what the top of my head looked like when I got home from my appointment:
On Friday I made this poor woman change her life around to fix my hair. I explained the pattern and that unless she took the top portion of my hair separate and went horizontally I would end up with dark roots in that area no matter what she did. I told her exactly how to do it and she actually said, “It doesn’t work when I try doing it a different way, I’m doing it my way.” That should have been my cue to stand up and walk out right then and there, but she is so nice. I like her. She is sweet. I am dumb. dumb dumb dumb.
You’d think living in the land of glamor and glitz that my first hair color and cut might not be so bad. In fact, maybe I’d make a connection with someone who understood my connection to my hair. Someone who understands that I am a ponytail mom most day but that I’m a girly gal and enjoy my hair – my hair is a part of me. For cryin’ out loud the name of my blog is a tribute to my hair.
One bad ‘do cannot shake me. I realize that I am beautiful inside and out, blah blah blah, as so many of my fab FB and Twitter friends have said. While it isn’t really me, this is the lovely layered feathery ‘do I’m sporting right now….
I mean, come on, friends! I am not shallow enough to think that I am my hair. Actually, maybe I am.
I’ll be that girl with the 80’s hair sportin’ 50 shades of some wack color chunks chasing after you to bribe you with whatever amount of money it takes for you to give me your hair gal’s number. Trust me, I’ll take it from there and she’ll never even know where I got the number.
Budget rental trucks have all kinds of goofy “moving tip”s …. this one is just stupid. Well, most of them are pretty stupid. I guess if you are using a rental truck you probably aren’t going very far. Like from Denver to California? Maybe you are just moving to a new home across town and you get to keep all your besties. You know, the friends who know you in your skinny jeans, your fat jeans, your pregnant jeans…. and let’s not forget your drunk jeans. I miss those friends….
I’ve made lots of friends since we moved. It’s only been a month and a half and I’m settling in nicely. In fact, I don’t hate it here. How could I? The weather is incredible and the people are so outrageously nice.
There is a “BUT” here, I promise….
BUT… it’s impossible to replace the friend you called in the middle of the night on your way to the ER when your kid was on death’s door. You don’t find the group of girlfriends you’ll share theater tickets with for 15 years over night and you don’t find the people who just “get” you and love you no matter how neurotic you are. It’s not that easy to find that person who “gets” you….
I cried for a week when I first got here. Now I just cry when I blog about it so I should probably just stop blogging about it because the reality is that I really like it here. My kids have adjusted well and, while I’m sure they feel the same about their friends as I do, they have made new friends and are all doing really well in school. I did my homework and their schools and teachers are excellent. My biggest concerns have all been put to rest and life is good.
They say it takes a year to feel “at home” but I wonder how long it’ll take before I stop wishing I could go plop down on my BFFs couch and just “chill”?
I wrote a post wishing Luciano Pavarotti a Happy Birthday today on the NEMC blog and it sparked a day of watching and listening to opera. I was probably about 8 or 9 when I first fell in love with opera and Pavarotti, thanks to a program my parents were watching one evening on PBS. It was always a dream of mine to see a live opera at The Met. My hubs actually took me to see Eugene Onegin one Thanksgiving when we were in NYC. It isn’t my favorite opera but we had orchestra level seating and the sounds from the pit and the stage were enchanting and the costumes and sets were just as magical as I’d always imagined they’d be. I would have loved to see a live performance of Luciano Pavarotti, in concert or on the opera stage, but alas it was never to be. I can attest to the fact, though, that an afternoon getting lost while trolling the internet for old videos and recordings of this great artist was quite enjoyable.
A few faves…..
Nessun Dorma (Pavarotti, NY 1980)
Vesti La Giubba